


Untouched Rose

by fannishliss



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Precognition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-20
Updated: 2011-11-20
Packaged: 2017-11-27 14:57:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishliss/pseuds/fannishliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor gazes into the timelines.  His hand goes out.  In that fraction of a moment a million timelines diverge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untouched Rose

Image from a Fairy Tale: Untouched Rose, G, Nine/Rose, 350 words.  
 _When he reaches out, she reaches back._

from the prompt photo of the Rose.

  
His hand goes out.

In that fraction of a moment a million timelines diverge.

She draws back in fright from his sudden hand, and is killed by a blow to the head.  
She draws back, but he grabs her, just a little late, and she spends the next two years in rehabilitation.  
She draws back, but he grabs her, half-carries her out, and emergency workers treat her for a severe concussion; she spends the next three days under close observation.    
She draws back, but he grabs her, dragging her along; she calls the police and he never sees her again.  
She takes his hand and runs, but falls.  The mannequins trample her to paste.  
She takes his hand and runs, but the mannequins overwhelm them in the lift.  
She takes his hand and runs, but after he tells her to forget him, he never sees her again.

On and on and on, until it feels like the million divergent threads will overload even a Time Lord's brain, the vortex dissolving his thoughts into rampant, multiplicative chaos.

His hand goes out.  

She meets his eyes.  

Something golden and vast lights up behind his brain when their fingers, in reality, clasp.

She takes hold of his hand.

"Run!"  he says.

A million meager timelines trickle into dust.  All that's left is now, and the running, and a brilliant golden gleam. Time sings its song of her in his mind: loneliness, determination, strength and devotion.  Her song is a perfect counterpoint to his own, the name he's never sung to anyone.  Time loves her, and so will he.

They link hands and run, and the universe shifts a little, brightens.

A dark and grimy basement or shabby estate hallway seems graced with all the beauty of a dewy sunlit garden, when before him, like a vision, is a rare and radiant Rose.  

When he reaches out, she reaches back.  When she smiles at him, he smiles back.  

The blind and wounded scion of a noble, ruined race, is brought to life again by the blessed touch of a shopgirl.

His hand goes out, and he reaches Rose.  



End file.
